Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born on 6 March 1806, the great English poetess remembered for her love verses.
MILAN – Today marks the birth anniversary of the English poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Wife of the English poet Robert Browning, the two married in secret and fled together to Florence, where they had a son. In Florence they resided in Piazza San Felice, in an apartment in Palazzo Guidi which today has become the Casa Guidi museum, dedicated to their memory. We remember this important poet with some of her most appreciated poems. How many ways I love you
How many ways I love you Let
me count them.
I love you to the depth, breadth and height
that my soul can reach, when it participates invisibly
For the purposes of Existence and ideal Grace.
I love you like the most modest need
of every day, in the sun and by candlelight.
I love you generously, like someone who fights for Justice;
I love you with purity, like someone who turns from Prayer.
I love you with the passion that I threw into
my past pains, and with the confidence of my childhood.
I love you with a love that I thought was lost
Together with my lost saints, – I love you with the breath,
the smiles, the tears, of my whole life! – and, God willing,
I will love You even more after death. If you must love me
If you must love me, for nothing
but love.
Never do not say:
‘I love her for the smile,
for the look,
the kindness of speaking,
the way of thinking
so consistent with mine
that it made me peaceful one day ‘.
These are all things
that can change,
Beloved, in itself or for you, a love
so born could then die.
And do not love me out of pity for tears
that wet my face.
Whoever had
your comfort for a long time
can forget crying and lose you.
Only for love love me
and forever, for eternity. When strong and straight our souls
When strong and straight our souls
silently cling closer and closer,
until the curved tips of their wings
open they catch fire, what bitter
wrong the earth can do to prevent us
from being happy for a long time
Think! As
we rise up, the angels, pursuing us,
golden spheres of perfect song would like
to drop into our deep and dear
silence. But, love, we remain on earth
where the adverse, unworthy humor of humans
flees the pure spirits, isolates them and allows
a place to be, to love for a day,
with the shadow and the hour of death around. The first time he kisses me
The first time he kisses me, I
only kiss the fingers of the hand he writes,
which became so more delicate and white,
reluctant to the world but not with him. ‘Listen
‘,
to the hum of the angels. Now I wouldn’t want
an amethyst ring at the purest sight
of that kiss. He was higher up the second
and, looking for his forehead, he lost a goal above his hair.
O supreme gift! Chrism
of love that with beneficial sweetness
precedes the true garland of love. The third was
placed, perfect, on my mouth, and since then
proud, I repeat: ‘my only one, my beloved! Verily this great love is my boasting
Verily this great love and my boasting,
which, when it rises from the breast to the forehead,
crowns me with purple enough
to attract the eyes of men and show the inner suffering, –
even if this love, for me and the best
I should not love, until you
have given me a proof, and told of
when for the first time your sincere eyes met mine,
and love I call the love. And therefore, I can’t even
speak of love, as something beautiful that is mine and
your soul has made mine, completely weak and uncertain,
and placed it next to you on a golden throne, –
And that that I love (O soul, we must be patient!)
and only in you, the only one I love. Like children in the sun
Like children in the sun, at noon,
I sit before your gaze, and souls tremble
between happy eyelids, for the unexpressed,
intimate, lavish joy. See, when in doubt,
I erred. And I do not regret the guilt, but
the opportunity that deprives us, even for an
instant, of the mutual, beneficial
presence. Ah, hold me close, protect
me, O loving dove. And to my fears,
if they return, calmly oppose your strong heart:
in your divine safety may
my thoughts find their nest, which, without you, vacillate
like featherless lost in the skies. March 6, 2015
© REPRODUCTION RESERVED

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